Famous To Me
by The Brat Prince
Summary: "High school was simply this; terrifying." James/Kendall with a side helping of Logan/Carlos. Minnesota!fic. Also a little bit AU.


**Famous To Me**

_Chapter One  
><em>

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: This actually started out as the second BTR fic I'd ever written, and I ended up putting it on the backburner for a really, really long time now (geez, a year and a half). Twenty stories later….Named for the song by Her Space Holiday, which is a whole hell of a lot more depressing than this fic will manage to be, but I liked the idea of being famous to a specific person. Basically, this thing hails from my fervent desire to try out AU!Minnesota fic and different meta that wouldn't really fit in any of my other stories. The rating might go up in future chapters- not sure yet.

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><p>High school was simply this; terrifying.<p>

James could feel it in fine tremors, all over his body, and he could see it in the way Logan's eyes got really, really fucking huge. The last time he'd seen Logan this riled up was during eighth grade finals, when he was convinced he was going to fail art because the teacher _hated _him and he didn't have an artistic bone in his body and he was going to be _forced to repeat a grade_.

Of course, that fear had been totally unjustified. Logan didn't fail art. Logan never failed _anything_.

It was actually one of his more obnoxious qualities.

"This is a bad idea. A really, really bad idea," Logan squeaked, trembling.

"Dude, chill. Bad idea or not, it's not like we have any choice."

"Right. Right, okay, we've got to do this," Logan's chin lifted half an inch higher in the air, and suddenly he was emanating false bravado, "What we have to do here if find a group of friends and-"

"You want us to join a clique? I cannot even stress how much that is not happening."

"Cliques are a social construction! One that's going to determine our entire academic career if they don't think we're cool enough, or good enough, or-"

"They're not going to think you're very cool if you say things like _academic career_."

Logan rolled his eyes and tried to pretend to be tough. James wasn't at all fooled. He knew every nuance of his best friend since birth's expression and posture, and he could practically smell little Logie's fear. If this had been any other day, James probably would have done his sacred duty as a best friend and mocked the poor kid relentlessly. But this wasn't _any other day_; this was the only day that had ever struck a chord of dread so deep inside the taller boy that his whole body was reverberating with it. Given that, James thought maybe it would be okay to be a little lenient and let Logan off the hook. There would be another chance for relentless teasing. With Logan, there always was.

"Look, we- just have to man up and walk in there. What's the worst that could happen?"

Logan began to list the possibilities, ranging from getting stuffed in lockers to ending up naked in the middle of the gym, and damn did he have an overactive imagination.

"Okay, dude. Shut up," James pushed his best friend right beneath the shoulder blades, urging him up the steps of the school.

He managed to get Logan to sit still through most of their freshmen class orientation and ushered him into his second period class without a hitch. James was feeling pretty pleased with himself, actually.

Right up until he almost died.

"Heads up!" A shout rang through the highway, and James's head swiveled to look, the movement just enough for him to narrowly avoid something small and black and moving very, very fast to the nose.

"Goaaaaal," a boy yelled, the sound distant and then close and then distant again as he ran past James, sneakers squeaking on tile.

"That does _not_ count," the first voice snapped and James turned again, suddenly face to face with the source of it. The kid had sandy blond hair and eyes like the sky before a winter storm, gray-green and overcast with concern.

He patted James's face, fingers mapping the landscape of his cheekbones and nose, smoothing over his forehead, eyes searching. For a moment James was too fascinated by how callused and rough the pads of his fingertips were to be offended by this invasion of his personal space.

"You okay?" The boy finally asked, a crinkle between his eyebrows. "Taylor's got terrible aim."

"I'm. Good," James mumbled, blinking, the boy's fingers still resting against the hollow of his cheekbone. He seemed to notice, and moved his hand, settling it light and warm on James's shoulder, even though James had at least five inches on him. He was tall for his age.

James noticed the kid was carrying a hockey stick over one shoulder, in his other hand, and realized that he'd almost had his teeth knocked out by a _puck_. Shit. He felt panic like an aftershock. James knew nothing at all about hockey, except that players wore faceguards for a reason.

"Good," the kid echoed. "Be a shame to smash that pretty face."

He withdrew his hand completely, throwing James a precursory wave before jogging off towards the first kid, a blur with another hockey stick at the other end of the hallway. James distantly heard him yell, "Rematch. You distracted me."

"How?" The guy sounded outraged.

"You tried to kill that dude." The blond turned back and pointed, small, vigorous jabs, and James realized he was staring. "The one with the _face_."

"They all have faces, Knight. You're just a sore fucking loser."

James didn't hear what the blond said back, but he raked his fingernails over his cheekbone. The place where he'd been touched kind of itched.

* * *

><p>James saw the kid again in fourth period. It was gym class, which was the only class James was sort of looking forward to. He was a lot better at physical stuff than, well, thinking.<p>

They were going to spend the day running, which was cool, because James was also a huge fan of sports that didn't involve a lot of contact. Things flying at his face were not his idea of fun. He needed his face to stay in perfect shape, after all. One day, James Diamond was going to be famous.

Except right before they got started, that Knight kid came forward. He spoke to the coach with serious eyes, and while James was mid stretch, the kid announced to the whole class, "Alright, listen up. Tryouts for varsity hockey are _today_."

Some kid James doesn't know; small, with dark, desert eyes yells, "I thought you were only auditioning first string kids from private middle schools today."

"Correct," the blond said, nibbling his lip. James stared, kind of fascinated. His cheekbone was tingling. "We, uh, normally don't hold school wide tryouts for another week, but three of our forwards seem to have had an unfortunate run in with- maybe it's better if I don't mention that part," he mumbled. "Just. We'd really appreciate the help."

He gave everyone this confident smile, offset by the way he shyly shuffled his feet. It made James want to be at his side.

Which is why he told Logan at lunch, "We are going to try out for the hockey team."

"We're what?"

"You heard me."

"Actually, I didn't. Because I thought I heard you say _hockey_ team. As in face guards and skates and gratuitous amounts of violence."

"See? You did here me."

"Are you insane?"

"No? I don't think so," James said casually, digging into his pudding.

"You don't know how to _play_ hockey."

"But you do," James pointed out, because there had been this failed experiment in trying to athleticize Logan back in third grade.

"I'm not trying out with you. Why do I have to try out with you? It's not going to happen."

"Logan," James said, trying to contain an eye roll, "You have to try out with me."

"I really, really don't."

"But best friends do everything together. Aren't you my best friend, Logan?" James turned his best pout onto the smaller boy, who predictably, immediately, caved.

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><p>They found themselves standing in the school rink right after classes let out, decked out in borrowed equipment in front of the biggest, most burly man that James had ever seen.<p>

"Listen up, daffodils. You may have been the best in whatever backwater middle school playground you crawled from, but on my ice, you're playing by new rules."

"Is he serious?" Logan hissed, "Because that speech is from a made for tv movie, I'm almost positive."

James shushed him, but the kid standing next to Logan, the short, stocky boy who'd spoken in gym class, the one with desert eyes and a mirthful smile, was laughing.

Logan was pleased. James was not impressed.

"Most of you aren't going to make the cut."

James was mostly here to see that kid, the blond with the dimples. He wasn't sure why, but he just felt like seeing him again was weirdly- _necessary_. That said, he didn't think he was included in the coach's most of you. One of the only character flaws James would actually ever admit to having was a huge competitive streak. Even if he had no idea how to play this stupid game, he did not plan on losing to a bunch of scrawny freshmen.

Even if he was a scrawny freshman.

He continued to scan the ice, looking for the Knight kid, who didn't seem to be anywhere. It was a little disappointing. The small dude, the one next to Logan, was introducing himself, going, "I'm Carlos."

"Logan," Logan replied, jabbing James in the ribs to get his attention. "And this is James."

James was about to be polite, because his mom had raised him well, but then he spotted a glint of gold-blond in the corner of the rink. He was batting the puck around with the other kid, the one who nearly killed James that morning. Actually, he was sort of skating circles around the other kid, and it made James think, _I could do better than that. _

Because he may not have known much about hockey, but he was good on skates. His mom had forced him to take ice dancing when he was young. He'd practically grown up with blades attached to his feet. He imagined skating next to the blond and knew, instinctively, that he wouldn't look nearly as shameful as that Taylor kid.

"Who is that?" James hissed to Carlos, because he seemed to know stuff.

"Kendall Knight." Carlos grinned. "He's one of the best players in the state. Maybe even the country."

"How do you know that?"

"How do you not? The only reason he's even at this school is because they recruited him. He's from, like, way up north, right by the border to Canada. I heard that the only thing they even do up there is play hockey. They have a _secret coalition_."

The coach was calling for them to line up for drills. Carlos proceeded to skate away, but Logan said, "We can't play. We'll die."

"What?" James asked, voice flat. "That is not true."

"James, you heard him. That Knight kid's like, a spy?"

"What?" James repeated, used to Logan's vivid imagination, but still beyond confused.

"It's like, no, listen, it's like those cold war towns they made in Russia, where they raise kids to speak perfect English and eat McDonalds and fucking blend in so that when they get sent to spy on our country, no one will know."

"What are you talking about?"

"We studied it. Four months ago. When school was still in session? Eighth grade? Is none of this ringing a bell?"

"You're saying Kendall grew up in Soviet Russia?"

"No, but didn't you hear Carlos? He's from a secret hockey coalition!"

James blinked. "You're losing it. I can beat him."

"What? James. James, no. I said-" but James didn't get to hear Logan say no one more time. He ignored the coach's second whistle, the second call to drills. He was already skating for the puck between Kendall and Taylor.

All those years of ice dancing had made him fast on his feet, and graceful. He swooped in between them, gaining ground and the puck before speeding away.

"Hey!" James could hear Taylor's annoyed shout, but he could also hear the crisp slice of ice as someone speeded after him. Probably Kendall.

James really hoped it was Kendall.

He could feel the eyes of the coach and most of the potential players on him, but more than that, he could practically feel Kendall breathing down his neck. He managed to swing, driving the puck straight into the net before Kendall's tiny body slammed him straight into the boards. Both of them toppled to the ground, and even with the padding, James could feel parts of himself already starting to bruise. This was why he didn't do contact sports.

But Kendall- Kendall was laughing. He was looking back and forth between James and the net, where the puck had come to a standstill, utterly delighted.

"You're the kid," Kendall said, scrambling to his feet. He offered James a hand. He took it.

"What kid?" Taylor snapped, skating up behind them.

"The one with the face."

"Why aren't you in line with the rest of the dorks, doing drills?" Taylor was all up in James's face now, and he found that he did not enjoy it nearly as much as when Kendall had been touching him. Taylor was bigger, and a little older looking than James had initially thought. He had to have been a sophomore, at least.

Which made the way he was pushing up against James even worse. It was a little intimidating, and James hated being intimidated by anything. He had a little bit of a temper, and he was seriously considering punching Taylor, right there on the ice, when Kendall pulled Taylor away.

"Dude. Who cares? Have you ever seen anyone skate so fast? _I_ could barely keep up," Kendall said, sounding a little put off, but mostly graciously impressed.

"Maybe you're just losing your edge, Knight," Taylor said.

Kendall gave him a withering glare and said, "That will never happen."

"You think this kid's so great? Get him in line with the rest of the rookies. See how he does," Taylor frowned at James, conveying exactly how he thought James would do.

"Fine." Kendall shrugged and looked James over. "I'm Kendall, by the way."

"James Diamond," James said. Kendall grinned.

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><p>Two hours later, without completely understanding what had just happened, James made the team.<p>

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><p>James was standing with Logan, waiting for his mom to pick them up in front of the school steps when he heard-<p>

"Diamond! Hey, James!"

"Kendall," James acknowledged, waving.

"Secret. Hockey. Coalition," Logan hissed, but he was just bitter because he was probably going to be made an alternate. They'd see when the list was posted two days from now. The only reason James knew he'd made the cut was because Kendall had been incredibly vocal about it.

And a little bit touchy feely. James wasn't used to getting so many hugs and backslaps in a single day.

"Hey. So. I was thinking. We should celebrate." Kendall said, breathless. He glanced down at Logan and said, "You were at tryouts too, right?"

"Yeah," Logan replied, moping.

"What's with the voice? You weren't bad," Kendall said good-naturedly. "A little rough around the edges, but you're a solid scorer."

"You remember me?"

"I remember everyone who tries out for my team."

Logan wasn't exactly the coolest dude in town, but Kendall didn't seem to care. He was being genuinely nice. James appreciated that. He wasn't about to drop his best friend for some hockey genius, even if he was weirdly fascinating.

"You're not the captain," Logan objected, because Logan had a hard time handling new people with anything resembling social grace.

Kendall's eyes danced. "I will be."

"He's confident," Logan whispered to James, but it was a loud stage whisper that makes Kendall grin.

"Right. So, celebration?"

"Um. We're waiting for Logan's mom."

"Dude, no. There's this diner with the best apple pie in the entire state three blocks from here. You've got to come grab a piece with me."

"I really can't-" James objected, even though his eyes had gone all wide, because. _Pie_. He loved pie.

"Yeah you can. Look, my mom will give you a ride home. She's going to pick me up at eight."

"Go," Logan urged, even though he sounded a little bit wistful. "You should- go."

"You can come too," Kendall said.

"Nah. My mom's going to be here any minute. Raincheck?"

"Sure." Kendall shrugged, and James liked that- he liked the way Kendall's whole body seemed to radiate nonchalance. The way there wasn't an ounce of _fake_ in his voice. James had thought high school would be like middle school, where he had to protect Logan from all the guys who thought they were somehow better than the nerds, than people like Logan who would grow up to inherit the earth. Guys who had always been a lot like Kendall; gifted and gorgeous.

Only Kendall wasn't like those guys at all.

The diner had delicious pie.

And by delicious, James meant that he was probably going to set up camp in the kitchen and never leave. He'd never tasted anything so good in his life. He felt like he was going to have an orgasm, right there at the table, which was not completely out of the question because James was still getting a handle on the whole random arousal thing. He was only fourteen, after all. Kendall was watching him, smirking.

"I told you it was amazing."

"I will never take anything you say for granted, ever again," James promised. Kendall reached over the table and ruffled his hair- which. James hated it when people touched his hair. He really, really fucking despised it. Looking good was one of his callings in life, and James took a lot of pride in his appearance.

But he didn't really mind the feeling of Kendall's fingertips against his scalp.

"Oh, dude," Kendall said when he pulled back. He began to rifle through his hockey duffle, finally pulling out a slender black comb. He handed it to James and said, "Sorry."

James turned to look in one of the diner mirrors and immediately snatched the comb from Kendall's hand. "Aw, aw. _Dude."_

"Sorry," Kendall said again, chuckling. "After you spent half an hour arranging it in the locker room, too."

"I did not," James protested.

"Yeah, you did," Kendall replied, still snorting. "I've got to piss."

He clambered up and out of the booth, making his way over to the restroom. Once James was reasonably certain his hair could not be saved, he stuck the comb in his back pocket and waved the waitress over.

"Can I get some more pie?"

"You sure. It's your third piece, sweetie."

James frowned at her. The waitress smirked and began to scribble down the order. James was about to turn his attention back to his hair when-

"How long have you two been friends?" the waitress asked, staring in the direction Kendall had gone speculatively, "You're so close."

"We just met today," James grinned, feeling like he was king of the world without understanding why.

The waitress clucked her tongue. She knew what that stupid-silly grin on the pretty-faced boy meant. Just met today her right foot. She hadn't seen kids more smitten with each other come 'round these parts in months. But hell, if he didn't want to admit they were boyfriends, there was nothing she could do about it. Not like it was her business anyway.

It was sweet seeing young folk like them talking and laughing, and she watched them fondly through the rest of her shift, right up until closing time when she had to refuse to serve 'em up one last piece of pie in favor of locking up.

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><p>AN: So. This was intended to be a oneshot, but I'm breaking it down into chapters because it will kind of flow weird otherwise. Not a ton of chapters- probably three or four. Please review!


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